In Search of the Alter Dom

by Jack Challis

  ‘Well…. one day maybe,’ Sebus answers.

  ‘Don’t leave it too long,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘I don’t want to be in my rocking chair – when you call!’

  A faint smile appeared on the Galla Qualls’s sad liquid face.

  Blodwyn could hear medieval music floating on the warm scented breeze, from the direction of False Arcadia. ‘What’s going on?’ she asks.

  ‘On Earth’s its pagan May Day, always celebrated in False Arcadia,’ replies Sebus.

  ‘What!’ exclaims Blodwyn, ‘a whole year has past already – and it’s mid-summer’s eve again? My parents will think I have run away. They will be worried sick – I always said I would run away – or kill myself; but never meant it!’

  ‘Do not worry,’ smiles Sebus, ‘distance and space distorts time. The first day of May they are celebrating, is not in your present Earth time. You will be old and your parents long in their graves when this May day occurs!’

  Sadness fell over Blodwyn. But that was still in the distant future. She knew the Galla Quall’s sadness was in the present; he had lost eight of his kind – never to be replaced. ‘I am truly sorry for the loss your race has suffered,’ she says sadly.

  The Galla Quall nods solemnly. ‘Now go and join the merriment,’ says Sebus, ‘your friend Queen Angharad will be there – I must leave you now.’ Blodwyn kissed the Quall on the cheek; his flesh felt damp and cool, just like jelly. She watched him gracefully glide into the lake and disappear! Would she ever see a Galla Quall again?

  Blodwyn then thought of Grunwalde and her blood boiled. “You scheming, lying little cow – tricking me into this dangerous odyssey – you could have told me the truth.”

  Suddenly she felt all alone standing by the lake, and hurried towards the distant music: just to find company. Some sections of the woods were in dying winter; trees with bare branches, some in swollen bud, their dark trunks standing amid splashes of white snowdrops. Other woods were in young summer dress, showing pale glinting green leaves, canopying a bluebell carpet haze. Another wood she passed was in the full glory of autumn, it’s foliage ablaze with gold, russet and yellowing browns and siennas. Blodwyn noticed delicate beings of all races, and creatures she had never seen before capering around the trees; picking wild flowers or dancing on the carpet of fallen leaves.

  A sound of un-shod hooves made her turn and look behind her. She saw a fat baldheaded old man astride a donkey. He had a beer-gut and skinny legs; he carried a jug in his hand and wore a garland on his shiny pate. He was as drunk as Bryn Jones the Wino on pension day or, “as pissed as a rat’s arse,” as Grunwalde would say. He looked like a fat Mr. Burns. Blodwyn recognized the two cowardly Satyrs who were stopping the old lush falling off his donkey. Around this trio danced lovely young laughing nymphs, who skipped around the old man – exposing their shapely small breasts at the old letch! As this merry group passed her, one of the Satyrs exclaims, ‘Look! It is the Gorgon eyed female wine guzzler, with the humpty back!’

  Blodwyn gave the pair of cowardly Satyrs her best dirty look: then ignored the two prancing Satyrs nervous backward glances.

  Blodwyn knew the fat old lush on the donkey was the Greek God Dionysus (Bacchus to the Romans). What a world of fantasy she found herself in, but she knew fantasy could also be dangerous! Blodwyn was puzzled. The Galla Quall says they were celebrating Pagan May day, so how could this be Heaven? Or, maybe it did not matter what a person believed in – as long as they led good lives. Blodwyn believed in Heaven and Hell but sometimes she became unsure and just hoped they existed. She could not bear the terrible thought that humans did not have souls; making them no different from animals when they died!

  She reasoned that a conscience was in fact a soul – when we were alive. But when we lost our bodies in death; our conscience became our infinite thinking, living soul! But like all young people – she was always seeking confirmation!

  Blodwyn once again noticed a pale blue creature peeping at her from behind a low cloud, and smiling. She smiled back. Suddenly a shaft of pastel light fell across the path; a Prism Window, she hesitated for a moment! She looked up at the pale blue winged being for confirmation – it smiled; she walked through. Blodwyn found herself in a lovely wildflower meadow, full of celebrating people. A gin-clear stream meandered through the meadow. Everyone was dressed in medieval costumes out of the Grimm Brothers’ Tales. Some were humans of different ages, others elfin-like and small with pointed ears. Some of the beings were at play, others were happily at work.

  Blodwyn stopped and watched a swineherd watching his pigs in an autumn wood grazing acorns. Skinny beings, dressed in shamrock green, with large purple noses of drinkers; red spiky hair, and glazed eyes, played lively Celtic folk music. “Typical musicians – drunk as lords,” thought Blodwyn.

  Young men and girls sang and danced around maypoles. Some naked couples freely cavorted in the grass Tables were laid out with delicious food and fruits. Blodwyn was famished. She sat at the nearest table and ate some fruit – then a loud familiar voice caught her attention! ‘Ouch! Ouch! You sniveling, sapp-sucking, little, bug-eyed bugger – you did that on purpose again – you little beast – I will bite you and lampoon your lugs!’ The voice could only belong to Grunwalde Angharad, Queen of the Lings. Blodwyn forgot her hunger; she had a bone to pick with the lying cow Grunwalde!

  Blodwyn soon located Grunwalde in the company of the Goat-Man: sitting at a table. Grunwalde was being attended by her Lings. Lovely Maylings were braiding her golden hair. Two beautiful Narlings painted her fingernails while two button-eyed Sisling clung on to her feet giving her a pedicure; nibbling their Queen’s toenails. All the while beautiful Grunwalde was eating like a pig! The three bristling, brutish Tartarus Hobs – Bulrus Khan, Belbinder and Bunderhund, were jostling; cackling like hyenas baring their large yellow teeth, waiting for scraps.

  Grunwalde giggled, and aimed kicks at their fat behinds. ‘Isn’t it fun,’ she declares to the Goat-Man, ‘kicking greedy groveling, grubby goblins; while they gobble greasy gobbets?’

  ‘Indeed,’ answers the Goat-Man, ‘as much fun as teasing and tickling tiny tinted trouts’ throats, with a teal’s, tail feather. Now let’s dance.’

  ‘Not likely – you stink like my Hobs,’ comments Grunwalde.

  ‘Well rip my reed!’ exclaims the Goat-Man: looking hurt. ‘But your Hobs smell of rotten – scabby dog!’

  ‘I give you fair warning Pan,’ says Grunwalde. ‘Wash him!’ she orders.

  Laughing naked water Nymphs – Narlings, a wild-eyed Silky and a beautiful Mayling, pulled the Goat-Man towards the giggling stream. The Goat-Man clung on to the table; until Grunwalde bit his hand, forcing him to let go!

  ‘Ouch!’ exclaims the Goat-Man – that really hurt!’ Pan the Goat-Man was pulled towards the stream and his first bath in years.

  This was Blodwyn’s chance. ‘Look here Myfanwy Jenkins,’ says Blodwyn, hands on hips. ‘You lying little cow – you tricked me – I was nearly killed! You forgot to mention the danger I would face from the Rills: Blind Tamasic – the Oga Koya, and a Sillian – to mention a few.’ Grunwalde ignored this outburst.

  ‘Ahh – Blodwyn cariad – lovely to see you.’ Blodwyn opened her mouth to continue her grievances – but before she could utter a word, Grunwalde quickly stuffed a drumstick down Blodwyn’s throat, nearly choking her, and giggled. Blodwyn had been caught out again.

  ‘Now Cariad,’ says Grunwalde, ‘you look like a bag-lady see. Wash and change her,’ orders Grunwalde. Blodwyn managed to grab another drumstick before being pulled away by giggling Nymphs, Narlings and Silkies towards the gin-clear gurgling stream. Hands pulled at Blodwyn’s clothes: undressing her; the calming warm water faded Blodwyn’s anger. The Lings bathed her; Blodwyn’s hair was braided with wild flowers. Narlings, Maylings, Sislings, and Silkies experimented with her make-up box. Soon Blodwyn was dressed in Ling finery of blue, yellow and green: she felt wonderful!’

  Blodwyn returned to Grunwalde who was st
ill stuffing her face.

  ‘You look lovely, Blodwyn cariad,’ says Grunwalde, letting out a great burp! All the Lings roared with laughter. ‘Did you find the Alter Dom?’ she asked casually.

  ‘No I did not,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘but I nearly got killed – trying!’ Blodwyn was still hungry; sitting down she helps herself. ‘Do you know there are still Malis Afar and Na Idriss in False Arcadia?’ warns Blodwyn, unaware of Karak’s and the Na Idriss’s fate.

  ‘This is not False Arcadia – this is True Arcadia, the Garden of Eden on the second level.’ Blodwyn suddenly remembered she had passed through a Prism Window! “So False Arcadia was only the doorway to True Arcadia!”

  A heavy drum of hooves made everyone turn. A Centaur was approaching at a gallop. ‘Quick,’ says Grunwalde, ‘hide the wine – Centaurs get a bit naughty when drunk – they cannot hold their drink!’ All the wine containers were quickly hidden under the table, much to the delight of the three Tartarus Hobs who quickly set about quaffing!

  ‘Where is the wine?’ the Centaur asks, looking disappointed.

  ‘All gone!’ answers Grunwalde, letting out another burp and giggling. The Centaur picked up a leg of lamb and wandered off.

  Grunwalde checked under the table and was just in time to see the last of the wine disappearing down the thick necks of the three Hobs. She is furious. ‘Get out of my sight you drunken, useless, lazy, smelly swines – I give you fair warning – I will bite all three of you!’ But even Grunwalde could not remain angry for long, in True Arcadia.

  The three hyena-like Tartarus Hobs slunk away; but not before Bulrus Khan cocked his leg on a maypole!

  Pan the Goat-Man, returns from his bath. ‘Me-thinks bathing makes man and goat weak,’ he complains. ‘Have a drumstick,’ says Grunwalde.

  ‘Thank you no,’ answers the Goat-Man; holding his hand over his mouth just in case; Grunwalde was tempted to push a drumstick down his throat. ‘My mother told me never to eat between drinks!’

  ‘Then lets us dance,’ says Grunwalde, smelling the Goat-Man first. The quaint looking group of grinning musicians with red spiky hair and purple noses quickly struck up a lively Irish jig called ‘Rakish Paddy.’ Grunwalde leapt around like a mad woman, while the Goat-Man drummed the earth with his cloven hooves; in between hops – while playing his panpipes.

  Blodwyn noticed the two small suns of Quilla Prime slowly sinking below the backdrop of the pink and orange streaked horizon. While a massive Moon began to rise, tinting the meadows and forests with rays of amber and gold – giving the scene an enchanted, shimmering magical look! Clouds began to resemble fluffy golden candyfloss.

  This change of light allowed Blodwyn to realize that the pale beings she had seen hiding in the clouds, were descending onto the wildflower meadow: transforming into old and young people alike; and other beings. At the same time, several people and beings left the meadow and shot upwards; turning into winged creatures.

  “What is happening?” she wondered. “If this is paradise, everyone would choose to be young – not old!”

  The enchanted music made Blodwyn want to join in the dancing. (Blodwyn and Myfanwy used to make up all kinds of crazy dancing. Anyone watching them would think they were having an epileptic fit). Joining in, she did a spinning dance; Grunwalde began a hopping step, while the Goat-Man did a punkish pogo! The three of them looked like demented hatters! The watching Lings howled with laughter and mimicked the dances.

  Back at the table, a buttoned-eyed Sisling appeared in front of Blodwyn, face grinning with eyebrows raised – it was Boochi! Behind the Sisling was the lovely Mayling Boodi – they had survived! In a flash they were gone without any emotional reunions. Lings are not emotional or sentimental or even unpredictable. Blodwyn was delighted.

  Now she wanted answers from Grunwalde. ‘Look,’ says Blodwyn, ‘I deserve some true answers. Are there other worlds beyond the clouds – who are those pale beings – why are they coming and going?

  ‘What is this,’ answers Grunwalde, ‘Twenty Questions?’

  ‘I want some answers,’ demands Blodwyn.

  ‘I am a Star Worshiper – a pagan, how should I know?’ replies Grunwalde. ‘You are a good liar – more like,’ responds Blodwyn.

  ‘Aren’t I,’ replies Grunwalde feeling proud of herself, ‘but I always cross my fingers behind my back.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me the truth, I am going to pull your hair like I used to and I mean it this time!’ Blodwyn threatens. Two small mischievous Sislings hovering near Blodwyn’s head and listening to the conversation, whispered in her ear. ‘Bite her too!’

  ‘You would not dare!’ says Queen Angharad, hearing the Sislings’ suggestion.

  Grunwalde thought for a moment. Blodwyn took Grunwalde’s hands and held them, so that she could not cross her fingers. ‘Now tell me – Myfanwy Jenkins,’ Blodwyn demands.

  ‘Can’t,’ replies Grunwalde. ‘Why not,’ demands Blodwyn? ‘Because I am not dead yet,’ giggles Grunwalde, ‘anyway, I will go straight to Venus when I die!’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘there are two-hundred-mile-an-hour winds on Venus – and no atmosphere!’

  Grunwalde sighs. Blodwyn realized that even Grunwalde did not know her own destiny. ‘I am waiting,’ says Blodwyn.

  ‘All right,’ answers Grunwalde. ‘Yes, the beings are Star-children – angels, both pagan, and Christian. They are Star-children, until they touch the ground on the first level False Arcadia and the second level True Arcadia. They become what they want to become! There are seven different levels of paradise – beyond the clouds, to suit all tastes. Some spirit souls never leave their paradise of choice, and are in “seventh heaven.” Others, mostly Terasils, flit from one level to another; typical humans – can’t make their minds up. They find it strange – awkward not to have substance, as spirit souls. The pale beings you saw in the clouds had arms and legs, etc – but are no longer aware of them.’

  ‘Why do they keep coming down here?’ Blodwyn asks. ‘Are they lost souls?’

  ‘No,’ replies Grunwalde, ‘they still miss their heavy crude earthly bodies; others miss tending their flocks or vines, some miss ploughing their fields.’

  ‘Do you mean they are not content in Paradise?’

  ‘They are content – just not sure – they don’t stay here long. You see – if I was in Paradise,’ continues Grunwalde, ‘and I wanted to make a rude noise, or bite someone, or eat like a pig – I would come down here; just to feed those basic needs!’

  ‘Why are some people here old – why aren’t they all young in Paradise?’

  ‘Not everyone was happy when they were young – you can return to the age you were happiest at – be it sixteen or sixty. That is all I know,’ concludes Grunwalde, ‘you are beginning to bore me.’

  Blodwyn was still not convinced. Grunwalde was a very good liar and told you only what you wanted to hear!

  Blodwyn’s attention was drawn to a circle of dancing teenagers. One lovely flame-haired girl with bright dancing green eyes caught her attention. The girl stopped dancing: turning she looks straight at Blodwyn, then smiled. The girl then gaily skipped towards her and stopped directly in front! The lovely young girl’s face had a radiant glow, her eyes sparkled; her skin golden and perspiring. Blodwyn found the young girl’s beautiful face faintly familiar – somewhere far back from distant memories! The young girl gently touched and admired Blodwyn’s hair, with delicate fingers. Then the young girl softly stroked Blodwyn’s face; with a kind of distant, detached affection!

  Her hand was warm: her breast rose and fell with the exertion of dancing, just like anyone alive. In the girl’s left hand she held a posy of wild wood peonies; one of which she gave to Blodwyn. Blodwyn wanted to speak – but found she could not! The girl smiled: then turning, runs back gracefully to her companions who were waiting. Did the young lovely girl know her – they were about the same age, or was she just admiring their similar hair colour?

  ‘Who was that?’ Blodwyn asks.<
br />
  ‘And now I see through a light glass darkly,’ answers Grunwalde.

  A gay procession in the distance entered the wild meadow from a small leafy wood, dressed in the leaves of young summer. A young couple led the group; all were singing the Cornish May song. Several small beautiful Floranas “fairies” flew above the couple, throwing blossoms.

  Suddenly the weird-looking red spiky-haired musicians struck up a lilting Celtic tune. The young couple approached Grunwalde and stood under a bower of wild flowers.

  ‘Aah,’ says Grunwalde, ‘don’t they look lovely cariad. I must marry them – you can be bridesmaid Blodwyn – it may be the only chance you will get before you become an old wizened maid!’

  Blodwyn ignored the sarcastic remark and took up her position as bridesmaid. Grunwalde stood in front of the young couple, while her Lings formed a circle. Grunwalde stood solemnly then raised her arms: facing a bright star. Incredibly, the star grew brighter and sparkled over her head like a starry crown! Enriched with the star’s power she turned facing the young couple to conduct the Fairy wedding vows.

  Grunwalde spoke: ‘Join your hands and then join mine.’

  The Lings answer in chorus: ‘Like two wild woodbines entwine.’

  Grunwalde: ‘With the Lingly star behind: let the Fairy law two lovers bind.’

  Lings: ‘You now be safe from wild fang and claw – for you both now be under Fairy Law.’

  Grunwalde: ‘This vow between the Lings and thee, between the butterfly and the bee. This sacred covenant is now made – if broken – you will burn in Golgin Hade! Now kiss the bride – she is your wife under Lingly Law.’

  Lively music struck up. ‘Let’s do our crazy dancing again,’ says Grunwalde.’

  ‘No,’ answers Blodwyn feeling homesick, ‘I want to go home!’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Judgment Day and Home

  Gliding, floating on the evening came she by, every colour of Earth